Twirling his straight razor
by MLaw
Summary: Shaving methods take on a new meaning for our men from UNCLE. Originally posted for the Picfic Tuesday challenge on section7mfu, Live Journal. pre-saga The prompt was 'cut-throat' razor.


Illya Kuryakin walked out from their hotel bathroom, clothed in nothing but a bath towel; his hair plastered down, still wet from his shower. His face was covered with shaving cream and in his hand was an old-fashioned straight razor.

He tied a heavy leather strop to the door knob and proceeded to sharpen the blade on it.

"Do we go out for dinner or order room service," he asked, putting the blade to his cheek without aid of a mirror.

"Out," Napoleon answered, already straightening his tie and readying to put on his suit jacket. "I'm tired of being cooped up in here." He stared at the Russian for a second.

"How can you use that 'cut throat' razor? A bit old fashioned isn't it...why don't you just get a Remington or a safety razor for that matter…. and while you're at it, a little bay rum or Old Spice wouldn't hurt you."

"There is nothing wrong with my razor, and I prefer using witch hazel, thank you." Illya turned to go back into the bathroom, but changed his mind, having one more thing to say. "You cannot use your Remington as a weapon or a safety razor, by the way, as I can with my straight razor, since it is essentially, a knife." He smiled, not giving his partner a chance to respond and disappeared back through the doorway.

"If you recall that strap has been used as a weapon...like on your back?" Napoleon called out.

"It is a strop, not a strap," Illya yelled from the bathroom.

"Strap, strop what does it matter."

Illya stuck his half shaved face out the door. "Excuse me, but you are quick enough to correct my English, so fair play." He disappeared again.

"Whatever," Solo mumbled, looking at his wristwatch." Can you hurry it up in there?"

Ten minutes later Illya reappeared clean-shaven, hair dry and combed, and half-dressed in his black suit. His jacket remained on the coat hanger as he'd hung it up in the bath to let the steam get rid of any wrinkles. "Why were you rushing me, it is not like you have a hot date…or do you?" The Russian looked at suspiciously.

He took two steps toward the chest of drawers, on top of which lay his gun and holster.

There was a startling crash and two men broke through the door, catching the U.N.C.L.E. agents off-guard. After a brief scuffle, Napoleon and Illya found themselves bound and abandoned in the bathroom while their hotel room was being ransacked.

After everything became quiet, they assumed the men had found the documents the agents had been safeguarding and took off with them.

The partners managed to get to their feet, though they'd been tied up back to back.

"Move this way," Illya said, and together they shuffled across the floor like a pair of scuttling crabs.

Kuryakin reached for his black travel case he'd left on the edge of the sink; he worked the zipper open with his fingers, pulling out his razor.

The ropes were cut in no time, allowing them to grab their guns, and take off after the thieves who were still at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator. They'd taken their time, thinking the American and Russian wouldn't be coming after them.

Napoleon and Illya darted them easily; retrieving the files and dumping the sleeping bodies in a housekeeping closet.

"Time to find a new hotel," Napoleon said, as they headed back to their room to gather their things.

"Your Remington would not have been able to get us free, would it?" Illya grinned.

"I suppose you're right," Napoleon tried not to moan. His partner would milk this one for all it was worth, of that he had no doubt, but he figured he'd check anyway.

"So are we done with this subject?" Solo tossed his suitcase on the bed, tucking his travel kit inside, including his electric razor.

"Not on your life my friend." Illya nimbly twirled his straight razor in his hand with a definite attitude before closing it and putting it back in its case.

"I didn't think so… Where did you get your razor, by the way?"

Illya smiled. "Having a change of heart my friend?"

Napoleon said nothing as he picked up his suitcase, heading out the door and leaving his partner standing, peeked his head back inside. "Well, you coming?"

"Why are you in such a rush today?" Illya said as he followed the American out to the corridor. He stood in place, staring momentarily at his partner. "You do have a date!"

"So what of it? Maybe I do."

"Napoleon, could you at least wait until we are done with our assignment?" Illya caught up with him as he reached the elevator.

"Hey gotta strike while the iron is hot...she's leaving in the morning."

"Do not tell me, Heidi the airline stewardess, the one with the big…"

"Exactly," Napoleon smiled.

"Hmm, perhaps you might want to borrow my razor then...it will give you a much closer shave...women do like that you know," the Russian smiled, succumbing to the inevitable with his partner.

"No thank you, I've had enough 'close shaves' for today." Napoleon knew he could elicit a certain response from his partner like clockwork, and chucked as the Russian rolled his eyes...


End file.
